- 'I wasn't singing very loudly.'- 'What's it called?'- 'It's called "Om Is In His Holy Temple".'

- 'Nice tune,' said Granny.

- 'It keeps my spirits up,' Oats admitted. A wet twig slapped his face. After all, he thought, I may have a vampire behind me, however good she is.

- 'You take comfort from it, do you?'

- 'I suppose so.'

- 'Even that bit about "smiting evil with thy sword"? That'd worry me, if I was an Omnian. Do you get just a little sort of tap for a white lie but minced up for murder? That's the sort of thing that'd keep me awake o' nights.'

- 'Well, actually... I shouldn't be singing it at all, to be honest. The Convocation of Ee struck it from the songbook as being incompatible with the ideals of modern Omnianism.'

- 'That line about crushing infidels?'

- 'That's the one, yes.'

-'You sung it anyway, though.'

- 'It's the version my grandmother taught me,' said oats.

- 'She was keen on crushing infidels?'

- 'Well, mainly I think she was in favour of crushing Mrs Ahrim next door, but you've got the right idea, yes. She thought the world would be a better place with a bit more crushing and smiting.'

- 'Prob'ly true.'

- 'Not as much smiting and crushing as she'd like, though, I think,' said Oats. 'A bit judgemental, my grandmother.'

- 'Nothing wrong with that. Judging is human.'

- 'We prefer to leave it ultimately to Om,' said Oats and, out here in the dark, that statement sounded lost and all alone.

- 'Bein' human means judgin' all the time,' said the voice behind him. 'This and that, good and bad, making choices every day... that's human.'

- 'And are you so sure you make the right decisions?'

- 'No. But I do the best I can.'

- 'And hope for mercy, eh?'

A bony finger prodded him in the back. - 'Mercy's a fine thing, but judgin' comes first. Otherwise you don't know what you're bein' merciful about. Anyway, I always heard you Omnians were keen on smitin' and crushin'.- 'Those were... different days. We use crushing arguments now.'

- 'And long pointed debates, I suppose?'

- 'Well, there are two sides to every question...'

- 'What do you do when one of 'em's wrong?'

The reply came back like an arrow. - 'I meant that we are enjoined to see things from the other person's point of view,' said Oats patiently.

- 'You mean that from the point of view of a torturer, torture is all right?'

- 'Mistress Weatherwax, you are a natural disputant.'

- 'No, I ain't!'

- 'You'd certainly enjoy yourself at the Synod, anyway. They've been known to argue for days about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.'

He could almost feel Granny's mind working. At last she said, 'What size pin?'

- 'I don't know that, I'm afraid.'

- 'Well, if it's a ordinary household pin, then there'll be sixteen.'

- 'Sixteen angels?'

- 'That's right.'

- Why?

- I don't know. Perhaps they like dancing.'

The mule picked its way down a bank. The mist was getting thicker here.

- 'You've counted sixteen?' said Oats eventually.

- 'No, but it's as good an answer as any you'll get. And that's what your holy men discuss, is it?'

- 'Not usually. There is a very interesting debate raging at the moment about the nature of sin, for example.'

- 'And what do they think? Against it, are they?'

- 'It's not as simple as that. It's not a black and white issue. There are so many shades of grey.'

- 'Nope.'

- 'Pardon?'

- 'There's no greys, only white that's got grubby. I'm surprised you don't know that. And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things. Including yourself. That's what sin is.'

- 'It's a lot more complicated than that-'

- 'No. It ain't. When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they're getting worried that they won't like the truth. People as things, that's where it starts.'

- 'Oh, I'm sure there are worse crimes-'

- 'But they starts with thinking about people as things...'-----PSOats had gone on to be fully ordained, but he'd progressed from Slightly Reverend to Quite Reverend a troubled young man. He'd wanted to discuss his findings with someone, but there were so many schisms going on that no one would stand still long enough to listen. The hammering of clerics as they nailed their own versions of the truth of Om on the temple doors was deafening, and for a brief while he'd even contemplated buying a roll of paper and a hammer of his own and putting his name on the waiting list for the doors, but he'd overruled himself